


Dwelling on the Past

by Hitoshi__Shinso



Category: Hazbin Hotel (Web Series)
Genre: Character Study, Domestic Violence, Flashbacks, Gen, It will probably turn out to be VERY inaccurate, Mentions of porn but no porn, Murder, Muteness, Serial Killers, Violence, Vox's backstory, headcanons
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-26
Updated: 2020-09-26
Packaged: 2021-03-08 03:07:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,848
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26658667
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hitoshi__Shinso/pseuds/Hitoshi__Shinso
Summary: What started out as a normal day for Vox leaves him with too much free time to dwell on his past and his life as a human. There seem to be too many reminders around for everything he would rather forget about, especially his archenemy Alastor.---This is just a bunch of Vox headcanons and a backstory I wrote up for him because I looked at a two second clip of a character and said "wow, he seems cool." There are some dark/adult themes and violence here so watch out!
Comments: 2
Kudos: 15





	Dwelling on the Past

The red sky of Hell was beginning to fade into dusk, the looming pentagram glowing bright red against the darkness. Vox took a moment to admire the first stars of the night as they twinkled into view, his inclined screen displaying a satisfied smile. The skyline looked different than he was used to, which could be attributed to his unusual location. Currently, Vox and his employees were on the outskirts of Pentagram City, working hard to install a new 5G tower in a relatively uneventful section of slums located off the northeast point of the pentagram. This tower was only one of many Vox had built in the last month, and although the recent extermination delayed his efforts, he was determined to provide nothing but the best high-band 5G connection to as many denizens of Hell as possible. Over the last few decades, Vox had operated according to the assumption that those who control the technology control the world, a theory that was now verified. His monopoly over nearly all technology in Hell made him the dimension's second most powerful demon overlord.

Being a TV demon, Vox had the ability to manipulate many forms of technology, as well as a sixth sense that told him how things function... and when they don't. More accurately, it was only a fourth sense, because he had no way to taste or smell. His technological intuition was quick to notice a significant issue with the installation. A mistake that meant he would be spending more time supervising this project than he planned. With a leer animating across his face, the overlord crossed the previously abandoned lot and approached the employee who was responsible: an anxious sinner with vaguely aquatic features. 

"Excuse me, is there a problem here?" Vox asked, feigning both ignorance and politeness. "According to the schedule, the tower should be finished soon, and I wanna get out of this dump."

His words drew the attention of every other nearby employee, some of them almost even feeling sympathy for the poor sap that had to deliver bad news to an overlord. Of course, Vox's unusual speech commanded attention no matter the situation. He did not have a voice of his own, instead he communicated with snippets of dialog from primarily 70s television content, edited together smoothly so it sounded almost, but not quite, natural. Listening to him talk was the audio equivalent of reading a ransom letter made neatly with magazine clippings. 

"Well?" Vox pressed. 

"Everything's fine, sir- it's just a small mistake-" The nervous demon stuttered out an answer with difficulty, only finding it harder to articulate as the expression on Vox's screen twisted from a cruel, sharp-toothed smile to an angry scowl. 

Vox's pointed, metallic fingers wrapped around the sinner's neck, lifting him a few inches off the ground. He leaned over to put his screen close to the other demon's face. 

"Never lie to me," Vox growled.

"R-Right, of course, sir," His employee choked out.

Vox took a moment to stare into the demon's eyes, relishing the shine of fear. It was a sight that brought him cruel satisfaction as well as a creeping feeling of discomfort. 

"Now tell me the truth," He commanded, not easing his strangling grip in the least. 

"It... will take a few hours to fix," the demon replied with a strained gasp of breath. 

Vox released him in response and turned away as his employee fell on his knees and struggled to catch his breath. It was such a strange inconvenience that some demons still needed to breathe in Hell. The rest of his staff had begun to stare. The overlord gave them a glare, a tacit threat that he would do the same to any of them. 

"Take as long as you need to. I want my services working perfectly," he told them agreeably with a wave of his hand. 

It was a surprising shift of tone, but the demons gladly returned to their task. Vox strode back to the corner of the lot where he had been overseeing the project. He would never let it show, but he regretted losing his temper. Not because he felt remorse for harming a loyal employee, but because he vividly remembered being in that sinner's place himself. Even worse, with the extra time the construction of this tower was going to take, he would have an unpleasant amount of time to dwell on his past. 

~~~

It was the winter of 1974, about a month after his 12th birthday, when his mother died. She was a kind, caring woman with dark skin and a beautiful, supportive smile. She always protected him from the worst of his father's abuse, but now that she was gone, the only person left in his life was the violent drunk. As his father explained, she had died of a freak heart episode while he was away at school.  
"Doctor couldn't do a thing for her. Left the body there to be cremated," his father grumbled as he dug a wad of bills out of his pocket. "Now, leave me be, I got insurance money to spend." Despite his father's seemingly dismissive nature, neither of them handled her passing well. 

The night after his mother's death, he tried to avoid provoking the man in any way, but sometimes it seemed his presence was aggravating enough. His father's hands wrapped around his neck, slowly suffocating him. This was nowhere near the first time he had been in this situation, but it was by far the worst. He couldn't breathe. He could barely think. The only thing that existed was the instinctual panic of being close to death. 

"You still got nothin' to say to me?" his father spat at him, radiating an aura of booze and tobacco. 

The continued absence of a response only made his father angrier, but after a few more painful seconds he was finally released and left curled up on the cold kitchen floor. He struggled to breathe as his father stumbled away to find more alcohol. It was difficult to catch the insults the man had thrown at him during the ordeal, but he'd heard it all before anyway. He was told time and time again that he would never amount to anything, and in that moment, he wanted nothing more than to prove his father wrong. 

~~~ 

A shudder passed through Vox's tall frame at the memory. His father had done that to him frequently, enough that the unique instances had blurred together. It completely broke him as a person, and he never did manage to make anything of himself while alive. 

Reflecting on the memories of his life was not only distressing, it was also very strange. As a demon that was part machine, all of the memories of his afterlife were neatly filed away, stored with perfect detail and available to him at any time by query. The memories he formed as a human were the opposite, foggy, unreliable, and most of the time, completely missing. He would spend periods of time, sometimes days or weeks, forming almost no memories at all. Then, he would "wake up" from those blackout periods, wondering what he had done during them. It was confusing, but he learned to live with it. In fact, he only fully realized that it wasn't normal after he died. 

Vox took a moment to observe his surroundings. The lot he had selected was abandoned and partly overgrown with thorns. It was located in an exceptionally run-down section of Pentagram City that was populated mostly by imps. The 5G tower was being erected directly in the center of the lot, the brand new, shining metal contrasting with its shoddy surroundings. There were six of his employees there, a crew that was accustomed to the process at this point. He noticed that Pentagram City's looming clock tower was still visible, even from all the way out here. The warning plastered on the building was illegible from this distance, but Vox knew it read "Next cleanse: 350 days." A few days after the recent extermination, the princess of Hell appeared on 666 News to speak about her nonsense plan to redeem sinners, and ultimately caused a commotion by picking a fight with the news lady. Like all other channels on the televisions of Hell, 666 News was owned by Vox. He didn't mind what the princess had done, though. A brawl made for great ratings. 

Since the recent extermination, his projects had also faced a surprising lack of interference from a certain nemesis of his. Vox wondered if it was possible something had happened to The Radio Demon during the extermination. As unlikely as that was, if something had happened, he regretted not having been there to see it. 

~~~

"Wait, you haven't heard of him?" 

When he was in high school, he managed to make two friends. Friends might be a generous term, but at least they acknowledged and tolerated his presence. That was more than the other students, or even the teachers, did. The three of them only started to spend time together because they were the outcasts of the school, and they were forced to sit at the small lunch table in the corner of the cafeteria together. Nic was a large kid that always managed to smell more like cigarette smoke than an actual cigarette, but other than the sometimes unbearable stench, he was nice enough. Nic was not his name, it was just what Johnny, the outspoken school troublemaker and all-around unpleasant person, called him. 

Johnny leaned across the lunch table with an incredulous stare. "Vox, you really never heard of him?" He repeated the question.

Vox shook his head "no" in response. Johnny's nickname for him was irony, since Vox hadn't spoken to anyone since his mother died. He simply could never bring himself to do it, even if he really wanted to, especially because it physically hurt. Plus, he knew just how ugly and strained his voice sounded. 

"Well," Johnny explained, "Alastor was a serial killer down in Louisiana, and also the host of a popular local radio show. They think he murdered at least a dozen people in the late 20s and early 30s, but they only caught him in 1933. They don't know exactly how many people he killed, because he ate all of the bodies!" He added cheerily with a mouth full of school lunch hot dog. 

"Yuck..." Nic complained, pushing his suddenly unappetizing tray of food away. 

Vox furrowed a brow, disturbed but also strangely curious to learn more. 

"Anyways, what I was telling you, is that my grandma met him on the street and talked with him once. She told me he was plenty kind and charming, always smiling. You'd never expect he was actually a serial killer. She said he was handsome, too, at least for a..." Johnny trailed off at this point and offered Vox an awkward look with a completely fake apology behind it. He'd seen that look too many times to count. Johnny often began racist remarks, then cut them off just when he had conveniently said enough to make his point known regardless. 

"I don't believe that story. Your family isn't even from Louisiana," Nic retorted with his arms crossed. 

"You callin' my Gran a liar?" Johnny challenged. 

"I'm callin' you a liar," Nic retorted, and the conversation devolved into one of their friendly altercations. 

When the end of school came that day, Vox found himself still thinking about the serial killer. There was something so darkly intriguing about the brief description he'd been given, and about the way Johnny had talked about him as if everyone should know him by first name only. He decided to visit the local library to see if there was something about the man there. It turned out the library had more books and news articles about Alastor than he could read in a month, and by all accounts, he was a perfect gentleman that wanted to make the world smile. And a homicidal cannibal. The books offered some biographical information; the eerily familiar story of a mixed-race man that grew up with an abusive father. He might have done terrible things, but this man had managed to make quite a name for himself. A first-name-only, since the surname in the records was very French and very confusing. Because of the things he'd done, history would be slow to forget Alastor. Vox would remember that lesson.

~~~

Vox settled on an ancient park bench in the corner of the lot. His tall frame was almost comically large compared to the dilapidated thing. Even without the added weight, its structural integrity was already as questionable as its very existence, since joyful places like parks were anything but common in Hell. Abandoned benches that would surely leave grime on his expensive suit, however, were just Hell's style.

Vox's intuition told him the construction of the tower was going well, despite the screw-up. It was possible it wouldn't take as long to finish this project as he'd thought. Truthfully, it wasn't completely necessary for him to be there during the construction at all. With the number of towers they'd already installed, the team could easily do this without him. But Vox wanted to ensure everything was up to his standards. He took great pride in the technology and innovations he worked to bring to the inhabitants of Hell. Being genuinely respected for his efforts was just as important to him as being feared. It wasn't just raw power that made him nearly the most powerful overlord, it was his ingenuity and the respect and connections he'd gained because of it. 

~~~

Technology was always a fascinating subject for him. His father worked for a company that distributed all sorts of home devices such as TVs, VCRs, and even the earliest PCs. Despite it most likely being far from company policy, his father often brought home the devices that were unfit for sale, quickly filling their garage with every kind of technology and plenty of spare parts. Most of Vox's free time as a child and teenager was spent in that garage, where he could simultaneously avoid his father and teach himself the workings of everything there. He'd spend hours tinkering with the devices, a functional TV playing to keep him company, though it was never loud enough to attract his father's attention. 

Early in 1980, the year he would have graduated high school, was when he learned that this expertise of technology could make him invaluable to others. 

"Hey kid, wait up," Johnny called out, waving from the picnic table where he and Nic had been talking.

Vox was about to begin the short walk home when he turned to join Johnny and Nic at the table instead. He was glad to have a reason to avoid going home. There were several tables in front of the school, and students usually sat and relaxed while waiting for their buses. Johnny would often call the two of them over to a table to discuss his latest adventures and schemes, or to show them a Playboy he'd snuck into school. This was what Vox was expecting this time, and while the nude women weren't ever as interesting to him as they were to Johnny and Nic, it was still an excuse to postpone seeing his father.

"Hey, listen to me, Vox," Johnny started speaking as soon as Vox sat on the bench next to him. "I got a business proposal for you." He moved closer and proceeded to quietly explained how his aunt made tons of money by making a rare variety of porno tapes that couldn't be found in a normal video store. She needed help with filming and making copies of the tapes to sell, however, a position they were willing to pay a lot of money to fill. "I know you're good with tech and all. Think about it and let me know," Johnny said as he stood and sauntered to his bus. 

Vox stared after him in shock. It was definitely a strange offer, and he wasn't entirely sure what it entailed, but he needed the money. He desperately wanted to move away from home now that he was 18, but he had no way to make money. He'd already learned that it was difficult to get a job when the best you can do to communicate is nod or write something out on paper. He considered the offer while absentmindedly examining the details of the wooden tabletop. Nic still held the expression of disapproval he'd adopted when Johnny started talking. When he noticed this, Vox decided he should leave and stood up with a nod to say goodbye. Before he got to the sidewalk, Nic hurried to stop him. 

Vox turned around, tilting his head as a question and slightly crinkling his nose. Four years and he still wasn't used to that smell. He did learn that Nic's family were all heavy smokers, and although he didn't smoke himself, Nic had spent his whole life in a house saturated with secondhand smoke.

"Hey, you know..." Nic started once he had his attention. He paused, and Vox could tell his friend was staring at the bruise on his cheek. Nic's sympathetic expression said that he wanted to ask, but he decided against it. This wasn't an uncommon occurrence. He often went to school with bruises, but no one apart from Nic, not even the teachers and staff, seemed to care. 

"Vox..." Nic began again, sighing sadly then offering a friendly smile. 

"I know you must have it really hard at home," he said, "And I know I don't know much about you really, but we've spent a lot of time together, and I don't think you're like Johnny. I believe that you can be a lot better than him. He told me about the things they do at that job, and all I'm saying is I wouldn't want to get involved." Nic's eyes wandered to the grass beneath their feet. "I don't know," He mumbled, then he stepped forward to give Vox a hug. "Just... take care, okay?" He spoke over Vox's shoulder. Vox returned the hug, his eyes teary only partly because of the smell. 

~~~

Vox shifted uncomfortably on the bench, taking a moment to ponder that bittersweet memory. When he was still alive, remembering what Nic had said to him would make him emotional, but he was well past that weakness now. Still, Nic had been a good friend to him, and from what he had seen, he was sure the guy would end up in Heaven. Unfortunately, that memory was the last he had of Nic, since he had taken the job within the next few days and soon dropped out of high school to work full time. Whatever he needed to do to escape his father. Vox clenched his fists at the thought of the man, producing a metallic scrape as his claws collided with his palms.

~~~

His boss was a tall, middle aged blonde woman who introduced herself as Auntie. She was eccentric, entirely too handsy, and he'd never seen her wear shoes, but overall, she was an understanding boss that tolerated his silence and paid him well. He quickly realized that she was not Johnny's aunt, as he previously understood. Instead, the actors, crew, and customers involved in the underground porn industry she ran only knew her as Auntie. When he first took the job, Vox didn't quite understand why her operation was run with secrecy. What they were doing wasn't illegal, and it was fairly common to find porn in magazines or on VHS. He quickly learned that the scenarios he had to record were far from typical. There were a lot of specific and strange preferences acted out that would normally be difficult to find, sometimes made by request for customers willing to pay enough. Although it was always between consenting adults, the situations acted out on the tapes often appeared to be illegal, and he could understand why Auntie wouldn't want the wrong people seeing them. 

At first, the job was uncomfortable and confusing since, as the cameraman, he had to watch everything. None of the twisted sexual content was particularly appealing, but certain things left him feeling confused, and the genre involving knives and blood did spark his interest. That was something he would push into the back of his mind for years to come. 

The discomfort of the job was well worth it when he made enough money to rent his own apartment. It was a small place in a derelict building, but it was close to Auntie's unlabeled wearhouse where most of their recordings were done. Most importantly, it was away from his father. When he moved out, he attempted to keep it hidden from his father, which was ultimately a fruitless effort. Instead of reacting with violence, the man had surprised him with suddenly sweet behavior, then by begging him not to leave the way his mother had. He still left. 

For the next two years, not much changed. All things considered, these two years were the best of his life since he was finally free of his father's abuse. Unfortunately, his lapses in memory were starting to become more common, but he still acted normal during them, so they did nothing to interfere with his job. He eventually saved up enough money to move into a nicer apartment that was still close to work. Johnny left in favor of dealing drugs soon after Vox started working with Auntie, but he still occasionally supplied her with "props." It wasn't uncommon for anyone working with her to leave shortly after starting, so Vox's continued dedication to his job made him her favorite employee, and unfortunately her new favorite place to put her hands. Although he meekly accepted the attention, and it wasn't entirely unwelcome, it was still uncomfortable at times.

One day in early autumn, Vox was walking to work on the busy, narrow sidewalk he had practically memorized by now. Going to and from work was the same every day. Everyone was always in a hurry to get to where they were going, or at least to get out of the bad part of town. Vox had a scrawny build, so larger guys would often shoulder check him while pretending they couldn't see him. It was also common for people to mutter insults or throw slurs as they passed. He had dejectedly accepted this and learned to ignore it long ago. But now he ran into a problem on the street that he couldn't ignore. When he reached the warehouse, he absentmindedly fished for the keys in his pocket, thinking of his quickly approaching 21st birthday, then of the day ahead of him. They were scheduled to film a rather large project today, something bloody and sadistic that had been requested by a wealthy patron. All of the props and camera equipment had already been set up the night before, but Vox got there early with the intention of ensuring that everything was ready. As he unlocked the door, a car came to a reckless stop on the side of the road behind him. He turned, expecting to see Auntie's dark red sedan, but was instead met with the truck his father drove. He switched keys in a panic and tried to quickly unlock the deadbolt as well. His father exited the vehicle and stumbled toward him, obviously intoxicated to the point that it was a wonder that his truck wasn't in a ditch somewhere. 

"You..." his father growled. 

Vox tried to escape into the building, but the drunk grabbed the closing door and forced his way inside, slamming it behind him once he'd entered. Vox backed away hurriedly, though he knew he'd soon reach the area that had been set up to film, then a wall. He hadn't expected to see his father ever again, and now that it was happening, he couldn't think straight through the fog of panic. 

"How dare you leave me for a place like this? Just like I thought. All this time and you still haven't made a thing of yourself." His father slurred while he limped toward him with murderous intent. "You left me just like your mother wanted to. I'll drag you back and keep you with me, just like how I had to kill your mother when I found out she was planning to leave." 

His words were heavily slurred, but the admission was clear enough. Vox was brought back to a time when he was an eleven year old with a black eye, trying to appear strong for his weeping mother.

"I'm sorry," she had told him, gently rubbing his cheek under his injured eye. "I'm saving what I can. We'll get out of here soon enough, alright?" Then she had shown him many small bills held together with a pink rubber band. He remembered his father holding that same was of money the day his mother died. 

His father killed his mother. The realization hit him almost as hard as the resulting rage. As he retreated, his back hit a surgical tray stand full of sharp instruments that would soon be used as video props. He fumbled and found a syringe behind him, one he knew was filled with a very real sedative, despite it being considered a prop. His father lunged for his neck, his hands taking their familiar place just when Vox jabbed the syringe into the man's arm. Before the drug could take effect, a fist collided heavily with his face, there was a sickening crack and a shock of pain that blurred his vision momentarily, followed by the sensation of warm blood running down his chin from his nose. Vox trembled with fear and anger as he watched the fight leave the man before he could take another swing. His father sank to the floor, conscious but helpless, just the intended effect of the drug. He grabbed a blade from the stand with shaky hands and moved to start the camera recording. This man was responsible for all of the pain in his life. It was time to return the favor.

~~~

"Brooding again, Vox?" 

He was disturbed from his memories by hands resting on his shoulders. One of his employees, a relatively recent arrival in Hell who called herself Ace, stood behind him. Unlike most sinners in Hell, her body was almost completely human, excluding the paper white skin and pointed ears. Vox rolled his shoulders under her hands and slid down the bench to deny her the right to touch him. He watched with a glare as she vaulted over the back of the bench and sat in the space next to him that he had inadvertently made.

"Well, what else is there to do around here?" Vox responded, the face displayed on his screen daring her to get closer. 

"Don't worry, the tower's almost done. We should be able to get out of here soon," Ace said as she wiped her hands on her black v-neck with a broken heart design. She ignored the threat in his expression and moved closer before settling into the bench to stay. His intuition told him she was right, the crew should be done in about 10 minutes. 

Vox might have admired the boldness that Ace showed in every situation were it not so reckless. It was aggravating that she had the temerity to play games with him, but she was undeniably an expert with computers, networking, and hacking, which made her too valuable to maim or erase from Hell. 

"You mind if I catch a ride back to Pentagram's center in the limo with you?" Ace challenged when her previous statement received no response. The smug smirk on her face said that she already knew he would mind. 

"Go ahead," Vox answered calmly. "I think I'll walk back today." 

"Oh. Great, thanks." Ace seemed surprised. She turned her attention back to the tower. Apparently she decided she'd leave him alone, probably for fear of having her limo privileges revoked. Vox momentarily concentrated on using his powers to corrupt the limousine's navigation systems. It was self driving, so ruining the systems ensured that it would take her a frustratingly long time to get home.

He and Ace were in Hell for the same reason, maybe that was why he always refrained from taking care of her using the violent methods that he typically would. She, as a human, had also been involved in recording the gruesome fates of victims to sell to an audience. Although the introduction of the internet, the dark web, and online video sharing since Vox's death had made it much easier for Ace. Of course, Vox wasn't one to talk about his human life, so no one else was aware of the similarly. 

~~~

Vox sat in front of the small TV in the wearhouse, watching nothing but static on the screen. The metallic smell of blood tinged the air. It had been about an hour since his father's pulse stopped. He hardly remembered the ordeal itself, but he'd played the tape back once it was over. He could barely recognize the man in the recording with the feral look in his eyes and the drying blood dripping from his nose, but he accepted it as himself. His trembling right hand threatened to crush the VCR remote. The other clenched the note he'd neatly written out to explain the situation to Auntie once she arrived. He didn't know how she would react.

Vox was scared. He was scared that he would be found out and punished for what he'd done. What if Auntie ran to call the cops when she got to work and found the scene waiting for her in the warehouse? He didn't know what to do with the body. It was still seeping blood on the concrete floor behind him. The terrible feeling in his gut was only fear, not the remorse he knew he should feel. Instead, he'd savored every second of his sadistic revenge. It was a thrill so much better than watching the restrained sessions of torture like the one he was scheduled to record today. This time, it was real. And he had been in control.

As he stared through the static on the TV, he found himself thinking of the serial killer he'd spent so much time reading about the years he was in high school. Vox was a murderer now, just like Alastor. I've made myself into something now, He thought as he turned to glance at the body behind him.

Vox tensed when he heard the door of the wearhouse open and close. 

"Is something wrong, honey?" Auntie called out from the front room. "The door was unlocked. You never leave it..." her sentence faded when she entered the large main room only to find a bloodied body and her favorite employee watching a blank TV. She didn't recognize the dead man, but she could recognize that he'd died painfully. His skin was patterned with shallow cuts, and the amount of blood told her they were from before he died. She turned her attention toward her employee instead, and her face quickly shifted from shock to concern. She calmly walked toward where Vox sat, passing the body and walking through a stain of blood, her bare feet leaving footprints tracking across the floor. She seemed unfazed as she stopped behind him and began to massage Vox's tense shoulders. 

"What happened here?" She asked in an eerily calm tone. 

Vox held the note up in response, his fingers leaving subtle stains on the paper when she took it. 

Please don't be afraid of me. Please don't call the cops, the first two sentences read. After an agonizing several seconds of Auntie reading the entirety of the explanation, Vox felt her fingers digging into his shoulders again. She leaned over him and almost purred next to his ear, "I'm not afraid of you, big guy." 

That fleeting feeling of control was long gone. He was back to feeling powerless against the disconcerting advances of this woman who was twice his age. Still, he never dared to complain or even to move away for fear of upsetting her.

"It sounds to me like he was threatening you. It was self defense. There's nothing to worry about," Auntie rationalized, still speaking softly into his ear. 

Vox rewound the tape to a random timestamp and let the bloody recording play for several seconds before pausing it. He felt a shudder behind him as she realized that the authorities would probably see this as more than self defense. She stood up straight again and stayed silent for a long while before speaking again.

"We should get rid of the body and clean this all up. The actors that were supposed to come today cancelled. I was frustrated about it, but turns out that was lucky."

Vox was surprised by how much Auntie was willing to help him. Together they moved the body to her car and drove for several hours, leaving the city far behind. After driving through nothing but farm fields for at least an hour, they found a dirt road next to a thick forest with no buildings in site. This is where they buried the body. Brushing the fallen leaves of mid-autumn over the freshly disturbed soil made it impossible to notice that anything was amiss. By the time they finished, it was beginning to get dark, but Auntie still insisted that she drove the entire trip home.

The next day, Vox mopped the stains from the floor of the wearhouse. Auntie decided that was his mess to clean up. She spent the day creating a new set in a nearby corner, but she took a break and watched the tape Vox had recorded in its entirety. She appeared disturbed, but quickly returned to being nonchalant about the situation. Vox was surprised again when she told him that she knew of a patron that would most likely be willing to buy it for much more than the usual price. She must have seen the doubt in his expression, because she then explained that the man she had in mind was a long-time customer, and that he could be trusted. 

Eventually, the promise of money and the prospect of never having the chance to watch the troubling tape again led him to write to the patron. As Auntie suggested, the man was eager to buy. A few days later, Vox waited to meet the patron in an alley a few streets from his apartment. He wore a hoodie with the tape tucked inside of it. He probably looked like a drug dealer, but it wasn't uncommon to find them in this part of town, and no one ever bothered to do anything about it. 

The man showed right when Vox was starting to expect that he wasn't actually going to come. No more than a glance at the man's appearance revealed that he was rich. His expensive, tailored suit, what looked to be a real gold watch, the Mercedes parked in front of the alley, and even the confident way he carried himself toward Vox all screamed money. He didn't appear much older than Auntie, but his hair had already turned white. 

The white-haired man stopped and didn't speak, he simply held out his hand expectantly. The look in his eyes was cold and predatory. In them, there was an unnerving promise that anything he was planning for this scrawny man in a hoodie was far more painful than death. Just now realizing what a terrible idea it was to be alone with a person who was eager to watch a brutal murder, Vox passed the unlabeled tape to the man, trying to keep his hand from shaking. The white-haired man accepted it, then produced an envelope of money, his predatory eyes remaining locked on the man across from him. 

"Your secret's safe with me, kid," He said with a gruff voice.

Vox nodded a tense thank you as he tucked the envelope into his hoodie. The man didn't leave.

"Ya gonna count it? Make sure it's all there?" He grumbled. 

Vox slowly shook his head, and the white-haired man chuckled. He seemed satisfied and strode back to his expensive car. Vox only relaxed again once he had driven away. 

~~~

Though he was used to them by now, his technology themed demon powers were strange at first. When he was alive, technology always made sense. Although it may have seemed like magic to those who didn't understand, there was always a reason why a device worked or didn't work. In Hell, his powers, and even his body, were truly magic. Some demons manipulated fire or shadows, but Vox could sense the 5G network as soon as it came online, and with nothing more than a few seconds of concentration, the signal was rendered permanently stronger than it should ever logically be. 

He stood at the base of the tower and looked up to admire it, satisfied with the quality. 

"Another job done! Soon my network will be available in every corner of Hell! You all..." Vox gloated and turned to congratulate his workers. He thought they deserved some praise after the harsh treatment the aquatic sinner had received earlier that night, but he quickly decided against it. 

Now that the job was done, the other demons crowded around a streetside stand that was selling roasted flesh. The little imp running the shop seemed overwhelmed by the sudden group of rowdy customers. After an extermination, opportunistic demons often collected the maimed corpses of sinners. No one in Hell seemed to notice or care that it was cannibalism. His screen displayed a look of disgust as Ace licked her fingers clean. 

"Is that really necessary?" He asked.

"Hey, you're just jealous you can't eat." Ace teased as she took another steak from the imp with no intention to pay for it. Vox glared, but chose not to engage any further.

"I want to see you all at headquarters at 9 AM sharp on Thursday. We've got another tower to install in the southwest corner of town." He announced to the group. The demons replied in a chorus of "Yes sir," and "You got it, boss." Not wanting to watch them eat for any longer, Vox quickly turned away and began the walk home. 

~~~

After the incident with his father, Vox tried to ignore the lingering, insatiable need to spill more blood. He hoped getting rid of the tape would help, but that unprecedented feeling of power it had brought him never fully left his mind. It sparked an addiction that had him seeking out another victim about a year later. This time, he was prepared. Not wanting to use the warehouse again and risk getting Auntie in trouble, he found a safe recording space in the basement of an abandoned building. He stalked the victim and made sure no one would notice her disappearance for some time, and he hid the body in the crawlspace under another crumbling house afterwards. He sold several copies of the tape, which he made sure didn't catch an image of his face, but he never met with another buyer after his encounter with the white-haired man. Instead, he would leave a tape in an agreed upon location and the buyer would pick it up from there.

Everything about the recording he made was intoxicatingly satisfying: the way the woman screamed and begged for her life, the way her voice cracked with pain, the way the life slowly left her. Over the next three years, four young men fell victim to Vox's murderous tendencies. 

The first man put up quite the fight, but eventually broke and begged for his life as well. The second and third victim were both men that were particularly nasty to him on the street, only to quickly regret it. The only indication that he had murdered the fourth man was the video that he recorded, since he had pulled off the whole thing during a particularly long lapse in memory. 

Still, other than those frustratingly short moments of control, nothing changed. Outside of the self-indulgent recording sessions, Vox was diffident and powerless in every aspect of his life. The black outs in his memory continued to get worse. He repeatedly chased that high, hunting down more victims, but once the thrill passed, he would soon go back to feeling like nothing. 

One woman fought back at every chance she got. Vox found the struggle enthralling. He finally managed to get her tied to a support beam in the basement, his skin covered in shallow scrapes from her fingernails. She refused to show fear, instead she insulted and threatened him. It would be frustrating, but he could see the familiar shine of fear in her eyes no matter how hard she tried to hide it. 

"My husband's a real criminal, y'know. He's gettin' outta jail soon, and when he finds out what you did, he'll hunt you down!" The woman threatened as she struggled against the bonds. As the night went on and blood spilled, her willpower was truly impressive, which made it all the more satisfying when she broke. 

Vox cleaned the bloodied knife after the deed was done, once again thinking of Alastor. What he was doing was so similar to what the other killer had done, apart from one detail. 

Ultimately, it was curiosity and the misguided desire to mimic Alastor that drove him to cannibalism. He took a small cut of meat home that night and cooked it neatly. It took nothing but a taste for reality to unexpectedly come crashing downing him. Whether it was the realization of what exactly he was doing and the resulting sudden jolt to what was left of his morality, or just the unpleasant taste of it that led to his revulsion wasn't important. The experience made him thoroughly sick, so much so that he would not eat meat for the rest of his life. He never wanted to eat anything ever again.

~~~

While Vox was the most powerful TV demon in Hell, he was far from the only one to exist. Robotic demons were fairly common in Hell, and they often had complaints about their non-biological anatomy. Most of them hated the inability to eat, drink, and everything else they could no longer do in the afterlife. Vox, on the other hand, was more than happy to be without those earthly pleasures that had caused him nothing but trouble when he was human. 

He didn't mind the long walk back to his office, even if it was through a section of Hell that he was relatively unfamiliar with. There were few other demons that posed a threat to him, and he couldn't get lost as long as he followed the landmark of the Porn Studios skyscraper. Unsurprisingly, the porn industry was one of the biggest in Hell. Because of his past experience working for Auntie, he was now a close associate of Valentino, the melodramatic overlord that owned Porn Studios. Although he was sometimes difficult to deal with, Val was an incredibly useful ally, and Vox's current office was about a block from Val's skyscraper due to how frequently they worked together.

As he enjoyed his leisurely stroll down the sidewalk, his presence effected any electronic devices in the vicinity. Lights flared brighter, signals became momentarily stronger, and wireless devices miraculously gained charge. This effect his presence had on technology was an effortless reminder to any observers that he was a dangerous overlord. The sinners and imps on the street did their best to grovel or avoid him as he passed. Vox often appeared in public solely because savored the fear he elicited in the demons around him. 

Vox walked past a small bar with two drunken demons engaged in a fist fight outside of its doors. They were too inebriated to pay much attention to their surroundings. A demon was shoved roughly from the fight and collided with Vox, who was barely effected by the impact, while the drunk stumbled to regain his footing. Everyone in Hell knew it was a fatal mistake to disturb an overlord, but Vox was willing to let this one slide... until the demon opened his mouth. 

"Hey, why don'tcha watch where you're going, jagoff?" The demon snarled angrily while he scrambled to his feet. The demon who had pushed the other looked on in terror, trying to muster an apology for the overlord. "I oughta kick you into next extermination day for-" The drunk demon whipped around a little too quick and almost lost his balance again, but when his eyes managed to focus on the TV demon, he cut himself off. "Oh, it's you!" He exclaimed nervously. 

"Ooo, that's a shame," Vox mocked, a sarcastic look of sympathy animating on his screen. "You really should learn to pay more attention to who you're insulting. Maybe next afterlife?"

These demons weren't part of his staff, they weren't allies, and the disappearance of a few drunks was unlikely to cause him any problems. They would make the perfect example.

The walls of the bar cracked open as the electrical wiring came to life and slithered through the air. The lights in the bar flickered into darkness, and more wires crept from the void. The two drunk demons were wrapped in wires and torn apart, their bodies dragged into the abyss. Vox walked away and carefully straightened his tie even as the scene was still playing out. If the shocked onlookers hadn't feared the overlord already, they certainly would now. 

~~~

It had been almost a year since Vox committed his most recent murder and attempted cannibalism. After that experience and his newfound hatred of eating, his health started to decline. As time went on, Auntie grew increasingly worried about him, and she did all she could to help. He walked down the street with a VHS tape hidden in his hoodie, absentmindedly thinking of the genuine kindness and concern she had offered him the night before. Though no work was scheduled that day, he'd left a thank you letter on the door of the warehouse that morning. He was still thinking of the wording of the note that he was no longer happy with when he rounded the corner into an alley. He intended to leave the tape hidden in the alley for one of his buyers to pick up in a few hours. Instead, he found himself face to face with a large, angry man. Vox assumed that the man he had almost walked into was the buyer, since the letters he received were, as usual, very enthusiastic. The man probably just arrived early because he couldn't wait to watch the tape of Vox's most recent victim. 

"And what do you want?" The man asked, spitting out a slur as an afterthought. 

Vox took a cautious step backwards and reached for the pocket of his hoodie to show him the tape. The man seemed to take the silence and the reaching for an unseen object as a threat, because he moved quickly to cease Vox's arm and yank him closer.

"If you aren't buying anything off me, then get lost." He said, then roughly grabbed Vox by the throat and shoved him out of the alley.

Vox struggled to steady himself while the man, who must have been a drug dealer and not who he expected to meet after all, muttered more curses and slurs dismissively. Vox was typically level headed when it came to his murders, excluding the first. They were always carefully planned and free of risk. But as he stood outside of the alley, suppressing a coughing fit from the panic inducing pressure on his throat, he was struck with indignant rage. This drug dealer was going to ruin his plans to sell the tape when it was so difficult to safely find a buyer and make a deal, he felt delirious from barely eating the last few days, and there was no way for him to know if he would even remember this tomorrow. He pulled out his switchblade and stepped back into the alley, once again desperate to feel that he had control when he knew he did not. 

A police car announced itself with a short call of the siren as it rolled up the street and stopped at the alley as an extremely unfortunate example of bad timing. Vox glanced back in surprise at the police car, and the drug dealer he had been about to stab took the opportunity to punch him into unconsciousness. 

~~~

All of the memories of his life were fuzzy after that. Vox attempted to dig through them as he continued his pensive stroll back to his office. At least in Hell, he was free to walk and think without fear of accidentally disturbing a foe he couldn't handle. As he neared the center of town, in addition to weary demons, the eyes of souls that no longer possessed a physical body watched him from the walls and furniture. These eyes that judged silently from inanimate objects were normal in Hell, and any sinner that had been there longer than a few years simply learned to ignore them. 

Vox could remember a few things that happened over the months, or maybe just weeks, leading up to his death. He and the drug dealer were arrested. The cops decided to watch the tape they found on him, expecting something to laugh about, or, at the most, a pirated movie. Instead, they found evidence of the brutal murder of a woman who had been reported missing almost a year ago. He vaguely remembered a trial, a lawyer that passionately pleaded insanity, an unforgiving judge and jury frustrated by his refusal to speak. Now that he was an overlord, being remembered by history as a famous serial in life no longer mattered to him. That was all for the best, since he was almost certain that he did not get much publicity on earth after his death. The stories of what he'd done were too gruesome for the news to share details with the general public. No one wanted to know that kind of evil existed in the world. 

Word of the contents of the tape the police had found on him did reach the prison he was sent to. The husband of the woman in the recording, a previously non-violent drug offender, led the group of prisoners who beat him to death. It was a painful demise that made him grateful that demons, especially robotic demons, were much more durable than humans. 

~~~

It was April 9th, 1988, 11:31 AM. Vox was startled awake by the feeling that he was falling. The first thing that he noticed was that although he wanted to take a gasp of breath as he awoke, he couldn't. He took in his surroundings, expecting to find a threat. He was in an unfamiliar prison cell with the door hanging open, leading out into a seemingly abandoned and decrepit prison. Red light shone from outside through the slatted window. He was disoriented, but that was nothing new. What was different was the feeling that his body was no longer human, and a simple glance downward confirmed this suspicion. The revelation that his lanky body was now made of metal with a smooth plastic casing came only a few seconds after he woke up, fueling his initial panic. He moved a hand to touch his face, and his metallic, pointed fingers found a plexiglass flatscreen. It was unnatural, but his panic began to subside once he realized he couldn't breathe because he didn't have to breathe. He had already died, after all. That unpleasant memory started to come back to him. He must be in some kind of afterlife?

Vox stood cautiously. He was surprised to find that his limbs were sturdy and felt completely natural, and he was incredibly tall when he stood at his full height. He took a moment to look out the small window. A glowing red pentagram hung in the sky above the city swarming with inhuman figures. It finally clicked that he had been sent to Hell. He was a demon in a city cramped full of other demons. This took a moment to sink in, although Vox wasn't surprised that this was the afterlife he'd gone to. 

He had to duck to exit through the barred door of the cell. Afraid of who or what he might meet in this place, he crept carefully through the halls, noting that he could hear his footfalls even if he no longer had ears. One of the too-short doors lead to a bathroom with a mirror, where he took a few minutes to stare with disbelief and eventual acceptance at his new body. He hadn't woken up with clothing on, but now that he wasn't human, there wasn't much to cover for modesty's sake. The flatscreen TV that served as his head displayed an animated face that showed his expressions with ease. One of the red eyes had two permanent rings around the pupil, a trait typical of deranged cartoon characters. Fair enough. He also found that he could display symbols or images on his screen by putting some thought into it. 

"Can I talk?" He asked the mirror shyly, afraid speaking would hurt him like it had in life. What he heard was not his own strained voice. Instead, he spoke using lines of television dialog, an odd but welcome change. 

Once he built up the courage to exit the prison and walk through the broken gate out into the street, Vox had to suppress a shudder. The city was bustling with intimidating demons and gratuitous violence. Disembodied eyes stared at him from the walls, benches, and neglected trash cans, and their gaze only added to his discomfort. At least this city was preferable to pits of lava and fire. Keeping his head down, he started to walk, unsure of where to go or what he should do. He headed toward what appeared to be the center of town. Bars, strip clubs, and a giant building named Porn Studios surrounded him. There was even an establishment that solely sold hard drugs. 

Vox expected an even worse version of the treatment he'd always received as a human when he went out in public. He waited to be called names, maybe demons had derogatory terms for robots, or to be aggressively shoulder checked or beat into the ground by something bigger. At the very least he expected to be ignored. Instead, almost all of the demons he passed stepped out of his way, their eyes widening when he passed. Some crossed the street or ducked into buildings when they saw him. At first he assumed that his species of demon was ostracized, but near the center of town he saw a demon that looked almost exactly like him, only smaller, and no one avoided the other TV demon or even spared a second glance. 

Soon he recognized the looks in nearly every demon's eyes when they saw him. It was always fear, respect, or the begrudging acknowledgement that he was a threat to be taken seriously. The reactions made him feel more confident, and he straightened to his full height as he walked, no longer afraid to make eye contact with those he passed. 

"He must be new," Vox heard a demon say to another in an anxious, lowered voice. "There have never been reports of an overlord like him, but you can feel how powerful he is, can't you?" 

"Mhm. Must've done something real bad." A gruff voice answered before they were out of earshot. 

Vox knew that he was important here, and he began to act like it. He carried himself with confidence, and spoke with just as much.

It also turned out that when everyone expected you to disintegrate them on the spot, it was incredibly easy to get things for free. Most of the time it didn't even require a threat. As soon as he walked into a clothes shop, the cyclops lady inside told him to take whatever he wanted while she ducked under her desk to get out of his sight. A skinny demon with small insect wings practically evicted himself from an apartment when Vox showed up at the door. Though he wasn't entirely sure why everyone seemed to immediately respect him, he still enjoyed it greatly.

Vox was quick to learn everything he could about Hell. He spent a lot of his time in bars to eavesdrop on conversations. If the bartenders were annoyed that he never bought anything, they didn't dare show it. He even joined conversations, which was a completely new experience. By the time he had been there for a few weeks, he had learned quite a bit about the society of Hell and more importantly, about overlords. Vox knew he was going to work to become one, and he already knew how. For whatever reason, Hell seemed to be lacking in technology, which he found rather disappointing. It was like Pentagram City had reached the 1930s but no farther. He was going to use the power he'd manifested with to start a technological revolution. 

One of the bars Vox began to frequent had a framed, black and white photograph of a sinner with a wide smile, monocle, and fancy suit. He soon learned from other patrons that the man in the photo was The Radio Demon, Alastor, the single most powerful overlord in Hell. Alastor supposedly visited that very bar every so often. Considering the name and the era the other demons claimed he arrived in Hell, Vox was fairly certain that this overlord was the serial killer that he had idolized his whole life. He needed to meet this demon. If Vox managed to form a partnership with the most powerful overlord, he would be unstoppable. It took a few weeks of consistent visiting the bar and waiting, but one day he finally found Alastor leaving just as he arrived. 

"Excuse me? Alastor?" Vox asked as the radio demon walked past him. Alastor stopped and turned, leaning on his cane and offering one of his infamous smiles. 

"Why, hello!" Alastor replied. 

Vox was surprised by the static obstructing his voice, like he was talking through an old radio. In fact, the static was always present, even when he wasn't taking. As he stood in front of the smiling man, he could feel the aura of raw power radiating from him, like electricity filling the air before lightning struck. The static was the auditory manifestation of this power. It was almost overwhelming, and Vox had to fight back the urge to shiver.

"Forgive me if we've already been aquatinted," the tone of Alastor's voice and the interest in his glowing red eyes said he knew well that they'd never met. "But might I ask for your name?"

None of the demons he met so far had bothered to ask for a name, and he spent most of his life just being called pet names by Auntie or nicknames by everyone else. He never had the chance to tell anyone what they should call him before. It must have been obvious that the simple question caught Vox off guard, because Alastor continued. 

"Or the reason you've stopped me?" 

"I heard you're the top overlord here. I think we could help each other out, I've got some ideas of how to improve, and control, Hell..." Vox explained how, with a little magic, all of the technology that was missing from Hell could easily be implemented, and the two of them could have a monopoly of it all. 

As Vox talked, Alastor unsummoned his cane and reached up to untie and fix the messy tie that Vox was wearing. He'd procured the fancy suit he was wearing from a shop, but he never learned how to properly tie the tie, and having claws didn't exactly help. It was a strangely intimate but passive aggressive gesture, an expression of superiority meant to make him uncomfortable. The accessory was tied primly, and tight enough to strangle Vox had he still needed to breathe. Alastor's wicked smile grew as if he were somehow aware of what he'd done. 

"What do you think?" Vox asked once he finished his pitch. He tried to sound as confident as he could given the situation. 

Alastor stayed silent for a moment, his expression disdainful. Vox was a few inches taller, so Alastor had to tilt his head up to make eye contact with his screen, but Vox had never felt more looked down upon regardless. The Radio Demon's eternal grin seemed to mock him. 

"I already know what I'm doing. I don't need advice from a walking picture box." Alastor said dismissively with a chuckle. A group of disembodied souls laughed along with him as he waved a hand and turned away. It almost seemed like the mention of newer technology had offended him, and the ambient static had become more intense as a result. Vox wondered if he was the reason Hell seemed stuck in the past. 

Against his better judgement, Vox hurried after the overlord and grabbed his arm, pulling him back. 

"Wait-" 

Alastor spun around to face him, wrenching his arm free as the static sound surrounding him flared to a nearly deafening screech.

"If you touch me again, this is going to get entertaining..." Alastor still smiled, but the threat was obvious in his glowing red eyes.

Vox realized that he'd seen that cruel, predatory look before, when he met the white-haired man he’d sold his first recording to. The Radio Demon's eyes held the same promise of a horrible, unspeakable punishment worse than death, but this time, the threat was palpable in the air around him.

Vox backed off and watched Alastor brush off his suit, straighten his monocle, and begin to leave again. The TV demon fumed, but he told himself that he didn't need Alastor. It was disappointing that he wouldn't have a partner, but he vowed to carry out his plans. This place was supposed to be an eternal punishment for what he'd done in life, but instead, Hell was a second chance. This time, things were going to be different. He was going to be something, because now he had what he never did in life. He had power. He had control ...

As he watched Alastor leave, he remembered the demon had asked for his name. He thought back to a nickname he'd received in irony, one he hadn't heard for years. 

"Call me Vox," he told Alastor in a promise that they would meet again.

... He had a voice.

~~~

The ruminating occupied him long enough that he had almost walked all the way back to his office. Thinking of his enemy also put Vox in an especially bad mood. He had succeeded in becoming the second most powerful overlord in Hell, but Alastor was always there to ruin his plans and make it all the more difficult to reach his goals. As long as The Radio Demon was around, Vox would never be the top overlord, and he'd learned the hard way that the other overlord was impossible to get rid of. Although he hadn't been seen since the extermination, it was foolish to believe Alastor was truly gone. It was more likely that he was planning his next scheme in his absence. Vox could only wonder what he was planning and how it would inevitably cause him yet another problem. After all of their conflicts, Vox wanted nothing more than to erase The Radio Demon from Hell.

A picture of his life long idol and death long rival caught his eye. It was on the front page of a newspaper that a sinner read while leaning against a building. He snatched the paper away vehemently, and the reader almost protested before she saw the thief was an overlord. The front page had an advertisement for the princess' redemption hotel, complete with a photo of her and Alastor, who seemed to be nudging her out of frame to make sure he was the main focus. His expression said, "stay at my hotel, or else..." Publishing an ad in the newspaper was so characteristically old fashioned of him. 

Vox took note of the address then glared at the princess in the ad who smiled along with Alastor. His claws ripped the paper as he crumpled it then tossed it away. If this hotel, and the princess, were Alastor's latest project, he might be able to use that to his advantage to finally be rid of his rival. It was about time Vox claimed his rightful position as the most powerful overlord in Hell.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! This is my first time posting fanfiction anywhere so I'm a little nervous about it. Hope you enjoyed. :)


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